


A Sweeter Kind of Poison

by CountvonKit



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 14:05:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15366285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CountvonKit/pseuds/CountvonKit
Summary: Octopath; Eight characters, eight missions, each person with a reason to travel different from the other. And yet fate somehow brought them together. This is the start of their days between travel, the little bits that pass between them and have strengthened their bonds as both friends and companions.--On their quest for a rare herb, Cyrus finds himself bitten by a viper. Against his better judgement, Alfyn is the only one who can save him.





	A Sweeter Kind of Poison

“O’ Ice! Fearsome brute!”

Pillars of ice erupted from the ground. Sharp as ever and reflecting whatever light was present they pierced straight through the monsters that stood before the party. Bits of dust and smoke dispersed, drifting off into the cave they dared to venture in. 

Cyrus smirked to himself as he landed on his feet. _Another battle flawlessly won_ , he thought tucking his pocketbook away. For a second his brows furrowed as he spun around on a heel. The deeper they went the more aggressive and dangerous the monsters became. That much was common knowledge anywhere. Everyone knew of this. And yet, he couldn’t help but wonder what it was these beasts were protecting so fiercely. What was so important? What was so… forbidden?

Ah. That’s right. A rare herb. One that their apothecary friend required. What was it said to do again? Cure night terrors or something? They would have it soon enough at this rate.

“Cyrus!” Ophilia cried.

“Cyrus, watch out!” Tressa’s voice followed.

“Huh?” Turning to look back, one last foe had lunged forth, fangs bared. The scholar had carelessly assumed all the monsters had been slaughtered with his final blow, but one remained amongst the aftermath. A viper that stood tall as he did. 

_Delightful_.

It latched down on the man’s arm, causing him to howl from pain. With bone-crushing strength a bizarre, burning sensation pricked around the wound that now dripped blood. Cyrus balled up a fist, anger and fear sweeping him away as the adrenaline built. How could he have been so careless to drop his guard? This truly was shameful.

“Bastard…” He hissed.

“Oi! Cyrus! Move!”

The man turned towards the voice only to see an axe whirling his way. He was far from impressed by their newly acquired friend here.

“Oh of all the bloody luck…!” 

What was worse at this point, Cyrus questioned to himself: Being bitten by a viper or getting split in two by a flying cleaver? Not that this was any different from their past fights, but... 

“Good grief, Alfyn…” The scholar stepped to the side, shutting his eyes as the axe took with it part of the snake’s body. He let out a sigh, wind from the throw rustling both coat and hair.

Ophilia and Tressa quickly ran to his side. 

“Are you alright, Sir Cyrus?” The priestess breathed, worry dotting her face. 

The man forced a smile. “Nothing different from our usual battles. I’m quite alright, Ophilia. No worries here!” 

Tressa’s frown turned scowl. “You better not be lying!”

“That viper wasn’t messin’ around,” Alfyn noted, walking up to retrieve his weapon. “Best we be careful from here on out. Ain’t no tellin’ how dangerous it gets further down.”

Cyrus glared lightly, eyes following him. Only barbarians dared to pull a moves like that. How reckless. “And you could really stand learn a thing or two from H’aanit about how to properly wield axes.”

Gripping the handle, the young apothecary let out a laugh as he swung the axe over a shoulder. “Don’t know about that one, Cyrus. Battle went well enough save for your own carelessness. It was nearly perfect.” He let out a whistle, turning to face the rest of the party. “But man was that final blow a beaut! Did you see that!? You didn’t even react to my spot-on throw, Cy!"

"Please don't call me that," the man grumbled. "It's _Cyrus_."

Ignoring his comrade's request, Alfyn proceeded his own wonder. "Ah~. Wait ‘til Olberic hears about this one.”

"Look here, when we’ve been up against all kinds of foes there isn’t much that should surprise us at this point… Be it dagger at the throat or…” The scholar sighed, then looked to the man with the sandy blonde hair. “…an axe to the face…”

Alfyn laughed again, walking over to Cyrus and slapping him across the back. “Perhaps, but it’s that kind of trust that makes our tactics that much better! Knowing how we move across the battle field is a special kind of bond on its own!”

Why did that sound like something Olberic would say, the scholar thought distastefully.

Ophilia looked to the apothecary, clasping her hands. She watched as the playfulness faded from his eyes and quickly turned serious. Dead serious. Something was wrong.

Taking firm hold of Cyrus’s arm, the man looked over the wound. “Looks like its fangs went pretty deep.”

“I’ll be fine,” the other man replied, unamused. “I assure you that it’s nothing that Ophilia’s magick can’t cure, save for some bandages perhaps.”

“I’m not so sure about that…” Alfyn muttered as his comrade yank the arm from his grasp. “You sure you’re ok, Cyrus?” There was worry laced in his voice.

“I’m fine,” He replied back sternly. “Look, let’s just… get this herb so we can get out of here.” Cyrus proceeded forward down the path. “The longer we linger here, the more unsettling it becomes…” He muttered. 

The party exchanged looks.

“Maybe… we should take a break?” Tressa suggested meekly.

“A break sounds wonderful, Tressa.” Ophilia smiled. “Doesn’t it, Sir Cyrus?”

The scholar paused his stroll, glancing back. Did they not hear him? Were they just going to stand around not knowing if more enemies would spawn? He looked back before him at the path ahead. Ignoring the sudden churn his stomach gave, he went to take another step. They were already so close to the herb. Why hold off any longer? Why not push forth? Blood rushed to his head, an uncomfortable warmth wrapping ‘round him like bundles of fur. His brows quickly furrowed again, body giving a staggering sway. How strange that the room suddenly began to spin. Even more so that the room grew darker. Perhaps a break didn’t sound so bad after all.

“Cyrus!” Tressa shrieked, rushing forth.

“Oi! Cyrus!”

Why was everyone shouting, the scholar pondered. He was fine. …wasn’t he? Desperate, heavy steps echoed against the damp stone floor. That was the last thing he remembered before his world went black.

 

How long had it been since he had been unconscious? That was the last thing on the scholar’s weighted mind, honestly. He gave a groan, stirring, eyes fluttering open.

“Where…?”

Candles were lit. The sun was sinking. Children were being scolded to return home for supper. They were… back in town? When did that happened?

Cyrus whipped up, letting out a sharp hiss even as the bed creaked beneath him. His eyes darted to the bandages wrapped snug ‘round his bicep. 

_That’s right_ , he thought grimly. _The viper. Dirty bastard…_

“Oh. You’re up I see. Good.” 

Steel blue eyes looked to see Alfyn sitting across the room, legs crossed and holding a cup in his hand. No doubt something he had been working on. “Ah. Alfyn. Did you… get the herb you sought?”

Alfyn sighed but gave a smile, causing Cyrus to wonder. Was that supposed to be a yes or not?

"Well?"

“That’s not important.” Standing up, the young apothecary walked over to the half-dressed man who rested on his bed. “Here. Drink this.”

Cyrus took a whiff, sneering and pushing it back. “No thanks. Not without knowing what this is first.”

“It’ll make you better. Guaranteed.”

The scholar frowned, taking hold of it. 

“You were poisoned. Had the wound not been so deep we probably could’ve pushed forth but…” The man looked away, awkwardly scratching at the back of his messy hair. “Eheh… It kinda got in your bloodstream so… we maaaay have had to turn around and come back after you collapsed. But what can ya do?”

"Wasted effort…” Cyrus muttered, taking the drink in one swallow, cringing bitterly. "Ugh! Disgusting! What is this!?"

“Medicine. It’s bitter, but that should finish the rest of it. The important thing is we got the venom out of your system and your fever down.” Alfyn smiled. “ _Now_ Ophilia can handle the healing.”

"Poison and fever, huh? Lucky me," he said with a sigh. "That would explain why my coat, vest, and shirt remain missing. Can't say I'm particularly fond of that." His gaze drifted to the wall before him for a moment before looking back to his friend. "So then by deduction, that would mean you were the one who drew the poison out."

Alfyn jerked up right, hands at his sides. “I uh…”

Even if it was brief, the man couldn’t help but smirk to himself. He thought as much. It may have been a bit rough, but he still felt it through his slumber. Sweet lips desperately against his arm, tongue grazing the skin encompassing the bite mark, a firm hand against his bare chest—just firm enough to hold him down in case he jerked, the man hovering over him…

Both men blushed in the awkward silence before Alfyn spoke. “I-I had to, yea. Only one out of us who knows how to, ya see.” He let out a nervous laugh.

“Mm. I do. You have my thanks.” Cyrus swung his legs around the bed, forcing himself to stand.

“Ah! No, no, no! You shouldn’t be up just yet! Rest a while longer, Cy! Don’t be pushing yourself.” 

"Nonsense. I'm perfectly fine!" Going to take a step forward, Cyrus stumbled into his friend. 

“There! Ya see! Just like I said.” Alfyn grumbled to himself, setting Cyrus back down on the bed. “Just get some rest, ok? We’re not goin’ anywhere without you. Take as long as you need.”

The scholar’s eyes drifted across the room. “You know you didn’t have to do anything, right?”

“Like hell!” The other man countered, raising a fist. “I’m not just going to let my comrade die when I know I can help! That’s not my style!”

Cyrus smirked, laughing to himself. That was certainly true. His apothecary friend was far from selfish. Then again, all his friends were the same in that sense. “Hey, Alfyn.”

“Huh? What is it, Cy?”

“Look. About earlier. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“About letting my guard down, and about us having to turn back ‘round when we were so close to securing that herb. If I had been more careful, we could’ve had it.”

“Mm?” Alfyn took a few steps back, crossing his arms. “Oh. Don’t worry about it. We’ll have plenty more attempts. It’s not like it was a miracle plant or anything. Just uh… something for my studies. Curiosity to feed the starved mind, if you will.”

“Be that so, but I know how frustrating it can be to not have things go as planned, especially when your mind is so fixed on researching it, learning from it…”

The blonde smiled bashfully. He could feel the scholar’s frustration as he tried to form words into feelings—something he was rather bad about. But a trait like that, to see the flustered expression, it was… cute.

“The desperation from achieving that dream so very real and so close you can almost reach out and grab it…” Cyrus looked to see now Alfyn beside him, hand resting on his shoulder.

“But I am achieving my dream.”

Cyrus arched a brow. "How so?"

“There's more to it than just learning and research. I’m helping people. I’m saving people. That’s good enough for me. As long as I can help those in need—”

“Alfyn.” 

Their eyes locked.

“Yea?”

There was silence for another moment before Cyrus spoke again. “Get me my shirt, if you please.”

“Eh?”

The corners of Cyrus’s lips twitched from sudden irritation. “ _My_ shirt _you_ removed. If. You. Please.”

Alfyn smirked. “What for? Don’t like being shirtless?”

“Around you? Not particularly.”

The apothecary let out a laugh. “Ouch. Such wounding words. Tongue as sharp as your mind, eh? Honestly, it’s not as though you have anything to be ashamed of.” His feet carried him across the room to retrieve his friend’s shirt that he tossed back before returning.

“Perhaps, but there is comfort in having layers on to put more distance between myself and men like you.”

“Aw shucks, Cy. You flatter me. But layers don't mean anything.”

Cyrus pulled the shirt over his head. “That so? Well it definitely makes me feel better.” As he went to look up, he saw Alf hoovering overtop, the bed’s weight shifting to more adding on. “And just what do you think you’re doing?”

Alfyn smirked, leaning in towards him, his face edging closer to his. “Well then, _professor_ , I guess being the only one to see you as you were is far better a reward than some herb. The only way my lips are gonna stay shut is if you—”

As the man beneath him went to speak, there came a sudden knock as a door swung open, Ophilia walking in. “Pardon the intrusion, Alfyn, but is Sir Cyrus awak—.” 

Both men froze, along with Ophilia. All three faces growing red.

“O-ophilia!” Cyrus cried.

“Ah! I’m so sorry!” She quickly turned around, holding her rosy cheeks. “I just wanted to check in and make sure you were alright! I didn’t mean to interrupt you two!”

“It’s not what it looks like, I can assure!” Cyrus stuttered. “Just forget what you saw, ok? I’m perfectly alright now. Fit as a fiddle!”

“I had no idea you two were so close! Please carry on!” In a whirl, she slammed the door shut, running back tavern way.

Alfyn climbed off, crossing his arms. He let out another whistle. “Well, that was awkward…”

"No thanks to you." Cyrus fell back against the bed in defeat, staring at the ceiling. “From one rumor to the next. Why is this my luck?”

“Heh. It’s not so bad, is it? It’s not like you have any reputation ‘round these parts, not that it matters. Rumors are just... rumors. Silly little bits of nonsense.”

“She’s not going to forget what she saw, Alfyn. You should probably go clarify with her what was going on. That way there’s no misunderstandings between any of us.”

Alfyn walked towards the door, reaching for the handle and looked back. It seemed Cyrus wasn't going to give up. But even Alfyn could play tough when he needed to be. “Heh. Not a chance."

"Beg your pardon?" Cyrus looked to him.

"It's not like they're going to treat you any differently, Cy. Be real about it, will you. They're your friends. They love you. They accept you. They support you. Why else would all eight of us be traveling together 'til the very end?"

"And just what are you getting at, exactly?" The scholar asked, arching a brow.

Alfyn simply let out a laugh, shaking his head. "You'll learn soon enough. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go tell them what the great Sir Cyrus Albright looks like down to the last detail of his tight abdomen. Catch ya later, _professor_.”

“Alfyn! Alfyn, you come back here this instance!” With the door shutting, Cyrus could only grunt to himself. “Damn that man… I swear if he dare thinks to start something as even a joke...”

Poking his head back into the room, the man gave a reassuring smile. "In all seriousness, Cy, don't you worry. Get some rest. I'll take care of everything." 

"That's... rather unsettling..."

Alfyn shook his head again. "No. I want you to trust me." Having said that, he pulled his head back and shut the door, leaving the scholar to all but wonder.

 

Outside the home, H’aanit leaned against the wall. “Why dost thou taunt him so?”

Alfyn looked back to her with a smile. “Sooner or later, H’annit, he'll see the forest through the trees.”

“Hm?” She pushed herself off the wall, strolling up beside the apothecary. “Thou men art a confusing bunch…” The huntress mumbled.

"It's... a sweeter kind of poison, my friend. Trust me."


End file.
